This isn’t Oxbridge, this slice of mattress in Hermitage, Tennessee. It isn’t even a Tony hotel in New York.
But somehow over the last few years I stumbled onto a huge blessing. Betsy touched on it yesterday when she mentioned her readers. Then Mike Duran brought it up on Facebook and I realized that somehow, out of my ravings (no, Autocorrect, I mean ravings, not Davonte) and other folks’ patience I’ve ended up with something pretty close to Inklings.
People who read this blog or read this blog. <–How can't you love that sentence?!? People who have stumbled across me and share time, advice and opinions with me. I know I've written about this before and it's kind of lazy to repeat myself. But I still feel lucky that I can reach out and get an opinion on a book or a movie or an idea. That I have knowledgable people who share their knowledge with me. That I have creative people who share the fruits of their efforts with me, who help me tailor mine and who inspire me to keep moving forward. I cant help but think that is awesomesauce.
I sent a short section of my nameless novel to Ivy and got back some marvelous criticism. Useful but not painful–the best kind. Since I'm very afraid to share my fiction with anyone (reason #2 why my novels don't get finished), it helps to tear the bandaid off in a positive way.
I started this blog entry with a clear thesis in mind but as the rain draws closer I'm losing my conclusion. It was something about being grateful to have these people placed in my life. Nothing earth shattering or thrilling. Just bragging about my good fortune.
It's Friday of a week that has been very hard for me emotionally. I've struggled against depression more this week than I have in months. Ive wrestled with hard ideas and the hard people who seek comfort in them. So I tried to write about the things that bring me joy. To seize peace from the steel-fanged jaws of sorrow. As unsurprising as it may seem, I find peace in the magic of written words. I don't think it is an accident that one of the names for God is Logos–the Word.
I suppose I could end this rambling mess with a selection of poetry–National Poetry Month should be good for something–but off the top of my head all I can think of is "oh, that Shakespearean Rag" and that makes no sort of sense.
Speaking of making no sense, isn't odd that they picked April for Natpomon? One of the most famous lines of poetry is "April is the cruelest month". Choosing April is just asking people to make fun.
Oh well. We made it through yesterday, which is one of the Damned Days in History. Enjoy the Ides of April. Pay your taxes. Read a poem. Pretend I had a decent blog entry today, complete with sensible conclusion.